


That Beast Astray

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, F/F, F/M, Fanart, Grumpy Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mal wrote a thing, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mutual Pining, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Smut, offscreen abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: Dean sees it in that split second he needs to see pretty much anything. Especially when he’s had to miss Cas for a week, not knowing if he was in safe hands during his heat isolation.This time around, he clearly wasn’t.A black eye. A nasty bruise, fanning out across his cheekbone.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 70
Kudos: 255
Collections: ProfoundBond Exchange: Quarantine & Chill





	1. Solitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angel_Tortured](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Tortured/gifts).



> Written for the Profound Bond Exchange 2020. This year's theme was 'Quarantine and Chill', which I used quite loosely.
> 
> Angel! I hope you enjoy these two ^^ I enjoyed writing them. One gift per day for five days, cause I like to draw this out?
> 
> Grew from a whump prompt "Who did this to you?", but y'know, Cas can still hold his own. Their favorite tropes I used are A/B/O (though, true to form, I switched the secondary genders around accidentally, but they were kind enough to be curious about this take on their dynamic) and hurt/comfort.
> 
> Five chapters total, to be posted in the coming five days! Fic and chapter titles are all from Hermann Hesse's Steppenwolf.
> 
> Come join fellow SPN/Destiel weirdo aficionados on [the Profound Bond Discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! Demons of a feather flock together <3
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy our fedora-wearing boys!  
> Love,  
> Mal

_“How absurd these words are, such as beast and beast of prey. One should not speak of animals in that way.  
They may be terrible sometimes, but they're much more right than men...They're never in any embarrassment.  
They always know what to do and how to behave themselves. They don't flatter and they don't intrude.  
They don't pretend. They are as they are, like stones or flowers or stars in the sky.”_

_Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf_

*

Dean sees it in that split second he needs to see pretty much anything. Especially when he’s had to miss Cas for a week, not knowing if he was in safe hands during his heat isolation.

This time around, he clearly wasn’t.

A black eye. A nasty bruise, fanning out across his cheekbone. 

Cas hangs his trench and fedora on the coat hanger behind the door, next to Dean’s leather coat and hat. Before he can get to his desk, Dean steps out from behind his. He’s in Cas’ personal space in a heartbeat. Cas, who freezes on the spot, because it’s usually the other way around and then Dean has to point it out, that, y’know, personal space exists. Because Cas is weird with people. Rusty, as he calls it. Dean likes that about him, the way he likes just about everything else Cas has on offer, including his grumpiness, his resilience and incredibly dead-pan responses.

And his eyes, as kind as the ocean is deep, the same terrifying hue of azure. With a sadness sprinkled in, that never quite seems to leave Cas, no matter how much Dean makes him laugh.

His Alpha is foaming at the muzzle.

It’s a risk every time. Every heat, none of them are sure at whose mercy Cas will be. Dean offered himself up to safeguard Cas. Once. Early on, back when Cas was still _Castiel_ and had only been working for their agency for a few months. A foolish offer, fueled by his Alpha instincts, but not intended the way Cas clearly interpreted them. If looks could neuter, Dean’s sure he’d not be having any pups in this lifetime or the next. The way his life’s going, he isn’t likely to have them anyway.

He interpreted that glare as a crystal-clear rejection from an unmated, devastatingly handsome, intelligent and most strange Omega, not quite understanding why it felt like ink wasted on poetry. Or why Cas had looked so insulted.

Ever since, however, they’ve been partners in the field. And friends. Close, much closer than anyone Dean has in his life, other than Sam. Painfully close, because there are too many empty spaces within Dean that he’d like Cas to fill. A sentiment so out of order, he still gives into his daydreams and nighttime fantasies of a mate and pups, morbidly accepting the guilt that comes with imagining Cas in that life. So his vicious, instinctual response does not surprise him, as misplaced as it is.

Who dared touch Cas?

Uncaring for their company, he tilts Cas’ face up with two fingers, so he can _see_ the damage. The world slows down with the intensity of his heartbeat. Dangerously loud, but slow, every lub pounding in his ears, his blood humming with every dub. His instincts on edge, though he’s too good at hiding for anyone besides his closest kin to know.

Cas knows, a sly little voice supplies.

Gently, horrified, he runs his thumb over the angry skin, as dark as the blood of a dying man. It’s too hot to the touch and the pain travels from Cas’ skin to his, like electricity shooting up his arm. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he holds his silence, jaw clenching hard enough for his teeth to audibly grind together. His gaze tracks Cas’ face, somehow, uniquely avoiding his eyes. It’s Cas’ sharp, nervous inhale that locks their eyes together. Dean ducks his head slightly, looking him dead in the eyes, his own voice alien to his ears in its hoarse darkness, a dangerous intention dripping off every word.

“Who did this to you?”

Eyes wide, Cas pales, his mouth setting in a tight line, and he tucks his chin, barely slipping out of Dean’s touch. His fingertips still graze the permanent five o’clock shadow. They have a semi-subtle audience. Sam’s been unusually focused - even for him - on the same page in his file for the past few minutes. Charlie’s looking at anything, but them, and failing spectacularly. Dean is aware, but he doesn’t give a rat’s ass. He wants to know.

Scratch that.

He _needs_ to know, so he can get to work.

“Just a bad Alpha match.”

Cas smiles at him. That sad, little sliver of a smile which provokes that funny elevator feeling in his stomach. When he adds a shrug, as if to say _‘what are you going to do’_ , it all but shatters. It costs him a hellish effort not to snarl at the dismissiveness of the statement.

“What the hell, Cas?” he grits out. “I thought… I thought you found a decent one last time.”

“Gone. ‘Lucky’ hit. Hole-and-corner ‘establishments’ don’t exactly have personnel databases.”

An inordinate amount of air quotes, even for him. Cas looks away and steps out of his reach, so Dean drops his hand to his side, balling both into fists, because he wants to hurt someone. A specific Alpha, whose name he doesn’t know. He can easily find out. They have the contacts. But Cas would skin him alive for overstepping his boundaries like that.

“I said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

“That’s no excuse,” he says.

“Anything is an excuse. I’m unmated.”

Yep. And unmated Omegas have to go into isolation during their heats, lest they pose a temptation to Alphas. Never mind that society doesn’t provide everything they need to isolate themselves safely. The law is paramount. The how and why they go about safeguarding themselves is their responsibility. And if they don’t, well, they asked for whatever they get. Cas has their network as his disposal, but it’s no guarantee for anything. And he loathes asking for help.

“Cas…”

Fuck, when did his mouth decide it a good idea to let his feelings bleed through? Cas’ breathing stutters, delicate, before he schools his features harshly, eyes hardening.

“Dean, I handled it, alright?”

Dean balks at the snappy sound, physically retreating, as if Cas’ voice is a whip. Cas lifts both hands, palms out, oozing annoyance.

“Pretty sure he won’t be ‘assisting’ anyone with their heat any time soon. And I dropped his name with the owner of the place, for whatever the fuck that’s worth.”

It isn’t enough. He almost says it and if it wasn’t for the company policy of wearing blockers, while on duty, Cas would know anyway. There is still a distinct chance he does.

“So. The Woman in White case?” Cas says, dismissing the matter and Dean’s concern in the process.

He clears his throat, trying to swallow the lump that’s taken up residence there, and smiles, his whole being off-kilter and on display. “Yeah. Sure thing. Angry bride. I mean, _real_ angry bride.”

Cas sighs. “Considering what was done to her sister and kids…”

He nods. “I already did the paperwork.” 

A somewhat judging eyebrow is cocked his way and Cas’ mouth quirks up at the corner. “That bored without me, huh?”

He chuffs at Cas, squeezing his eyes shut sweetly, before he can help it. “Maybe.”

It earns him another surprised look. Somewhat mollified, Cas’ gaze softens. “Please,” he says, nudging his chin towards Sam and Charlie. “I know you’re glued to them whenever I’m not here.”

And just like that, they’re out of that peculiar little world of theirs, which Dean’s sure he inhabits all on his own most of the time. A world where Cas could go into isolation with him during his heats. They’d have a small, warm house, full of Cas’ books and Dean’s music. They’d go see silent movies on Sundays, go dancing and have a few pups running around.

Cas’ words ring all too true, though usually everyone has the decency not to rub his nose in it, least of all Cas, so he’s not sure what’s going on with him. Besides the obvious. Dean does what he does best. He buries himself in work. Hell, yes, even paperwork, though he loathes it, but with Cas back where he belongs, it’s good enough. Better than it was last week.

That evening, per Friday night tradition, they go out for dinner and drinks at The Roadhouse, Eileen and Dorothy joining them. A former bootlegging watering hole, the whole place reeks of resistance and rebellion. Its back rooms provide safe spaces for runaway Omegas, which draws more scrutiny from the cops than Ellen would like. With Sam’s help, she balances on the edge of that grey zone line like a tightrope walker at the circus. Cas has made use of them a few times, but too often in a row puts everyone at risk. 

They unwind. Sleeves rolled up. Buttons undone. Beer, whiskey, Jo’s perfect steaks. Flames dancing in their eyes.

Everyone notices the bruise, even in the forgiving light. It’s impossible not to. And as the evening progresses, booze pouring freely, they try. Charlie, being the loving, idealistic Beta that she is, fusses about it with the least amount of filter, because she can. Eileen and Sam, dipping into their law background, look at it from that angle, but Cas doesn’t really engage either one. Because the law is never in an Omega’s favor. He doesn’t want to talk about it, dismissing it as part of life.

But Cas drinks way more than he normally does, to the point he jokes around. Badly. In that ‘I don’t want to talk about it, but it’s still on my mind’ kind of way.

“So what exactly _did_ you do to piss him off?” Charlie asks. “I’m curious.”

Cas flusters beautifully, hiding in his beer bottle with a flash of a grin, but it’s off-the-wall, when his eyes skitter towards Dean and never quite make it. Dean’s gaze catches on the sight of Cas’ lips on the mouth of the bottle.

“I said someone else’s name, y’know…” He rolls his eyes, snapping them back to Charlie. His voice tilts to higher spheres, self-deprecating amusement audible. Almost playful, as if laughing about it makes it less real. “In the heat of the moment.”

With one of those quivering, overexcited sounds, Charlie grabs Cas’ face, smushing his cheeks. “Whose name?”

Lips puckered, Cas glowers at her unsuccessfully, scooting sideways on the bench. She chases him effortlessly, until he’s backed into the wall, and Dean can’t help but laugh, while he saves Cas’ beer from certain doom, his skin tingling at the mere hint of warm skin. 

“Like that’s any of your business,” Cas yelps.

He fucking wishes it was, which is why he makes zero effort to get Charlie to back down. Like that’d ever work.

“Awww, come on, dude,” she whines. “You haven’t been interested in anyone in years!”

Grumpy, Cas palms at her face and she licks it, drawing a bleary curse from him. They break apart, bristling and oozing glee in equal measure. “Bradbury, you’re a disgrace. Go dance with your mate or something.”

Other than that, everyone behaves as if it is a normal part of life, which Dean puts down to the shit they see in their job. To the extent he wonders if _he_ is the problem. Ironic, seeing as he’s the only Alpha at the table. Perhaps it’s the thought that he might be capable of something similar that chills him down to his marrow.

He drinks way too much in the hopes of warming himself up from the inside out, but it doesn’t work and the night ends with Sam and Eileen getting him back to his tiny, cold apartment, while Charlie and Dorothy drop Cas off at his place. He knows he’s running his mouth to Sam and Eileen, but by the time he wakes up with one motherfucker of a hangover the next day, he doesn’t remember he said anything at all. Going through the motions, he brushes his teeth to get rid of the taste of loneliness, runs his hands through his hair, changes into fresh clothes and heads back into work, even though it’s Saturday.

His Sunday is spent pouring over the newspapers in search of strange cases, reading _Steppenwolf_ and drinking.


	2. Independence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of a locker door slamming shut. He almost knocks the whiskey glass off the desk, diving after it to save it from a shattering fate. Whistling softly at himself, he sets it back down, the unsolved case files under his nose forgotten. He glances through the glass in the door towards the hallway. Fuck, it’s already dark out. Rain shrouds the world outside, curtains of it caught in the light of the street lamps. The desk lamp valiantly casts its own light, kaleidoscoping through the Tiffany style glass shade.

Dean is jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of a locker door slamming shut. He almost knocks the whiskey glass off the desk, diving after it to save it from a shattering fate. Whistling softly at himself, he sets it back down, the unsolved case files under his nose forgotten. He glances through the glass in the door towards the hallway. Fuck, it’s already dark out. Rain shrouds the world outside, curtains of it caught in the light of the street lamps. The desk lamp valiantly casts its own light, kaleidoscoping through the Tiffany style glass shade.

Someone’s in the changing room? He expected to be the last one here. He usually is. That is the charming part of being the owner of their private detective agency. No one to hound him.

Except his own mind.

Allowing his wolf through, brightening the darkened world, he grabs his gun out of his shoulder holster and rises to his feet. Having discarded his boots and socks, he wiggles his toes, finding purchase on the carpet. Sam always accuses him of treating this place like more of a home than his actual apartment. Perhaps because this smells like the people he cares for and his apartment, well, reeks mainly of empty.

Shrugging off the stray thought, he sneaks out from behind the desk, inhaling deeply through his nose and parted lips, in search of anything out of place. Subtle at first, his body doesn’t fully register it, but after a few deep breaths, a foreign scent turns him soft from the inside out, like it settles deep into his bones at the snap of a finger. His knees turn to jelly and he stumbles, eyes falling shut, when the unique blend of a blooming spring meadow and printing ink erupts on his tongue. There’s more to it, so many subtleties, but his mind is too overwhelmed. His hand shoots out to one of the industrial beams, holding this building and now him upright, while he trembles under the exhilarating fragrance.

His ears perk up when the rumble of an all too familiar deep voice makes it through and his feet carry him closer on instinct. Carried on the fog in the air, he finds himself suddenly and intensely wrapped up in a new, but somehow agonizingly familiar scent. A warm spring day, the sweet touch of cherry blossoms and apple trees heavy, a bright blue sky overhead.

“Yes… He _always_ sees everything. Feels so much. That’s why he’s so good at his job.” An angry little snarl follows, like a warning. “But he’ll fucking miss that. Of course he does…”

Dean peeks inside, recoiling a touch when Cas is right there, but his scent is all-consuming and his curiosity gets the better of him. Intoxicated on his fragrance, he realizes why he usually sidesteps the concept of scenting him. He’s already so soft on Cas, this is making it infinitely worse.

Today he is unable to resist.

Dean’s heart clenches at the sight of Cas, hair still wet, standing with his forehead pressed to the locker he just slammed shut. His shirt is damp in a few places, pulled tight across his shoulders by the button-on suspenders, falling a bit too wide around his waist. His shoulders slump forward in defeat. They heave, as if Cas might be crying, the mere concept of which almost makes him step inside. Carried on the sharp scent of cigar smoke - the bad quality kind - an overwhelming sense of loss washes over Dean. But then Cas pulls his shoulders back, steeling himself.

Aware that he’s lurking and intruding, Dean quickly retreats to the meeting room he was holed up in, gun tucked back in his holster. Technically his office, because it’s the Winchester name painted on the front window, but he doesn’t like being singled out. Away from the others. He pretends to walk out, just as Cas leaves the changing room, and is sufficiently confused to look genuinely surprised when they spot each other and freeze.

“Oh,” Cas says. He wipes a hand over his face, pinching the tip of his nose briefly. “Hello, Dean… I had no idea you were still here.”

“Uhh, yeah. Cold cases,” he gestures. “I figured I was the last one here.”

Sighing, Cas chews his lower lip, arms hanging by his side awkwardly, while he rubs his fingertips together, visibly nervous. “Worked out. I…”

A deep sorrow leaks through Cas’ scent, Dean making a valiant attempt to ignore what that is trying to tell him. Cas must be aware of how exposed he is, so there’s no need for him to make it worse. Which is also more or less when he realizes his own blockers wore off and he’s loath to consider what he’s giving away. When Cas gets moving and puts on his trench, his mouth beats his brain to the punch.

“Hey, Cas?”

Cas glances over his shoulder. He turns towards Dean, flicking some dust off his fedora. “Hmm?”

“Why do you smell so sad?”

He expects anger. A rebuke. Because it’s an intimate invasion of Cas’ privacy. Instead, for some reason, all he catches is a sense of curious beguilement, as if he’s… charmed by the fact that Dean caught it, but the effect is short-lived. His face softens, a wistful empathy in the way his eyes seem to droop.

“I could ask you the same thing, Dean.”

There are those extra heartbeats, the ones he always remembers most when he lays down to sleep and never finds it. The ones during which they stare at each other, hapless, bemused, like two intrigued people speaking a completely different language still trying to make sense of each other. Waiting for that bolt of lightning, which brings insight in its wake.

That’s it.

Cas puts on his hat, grabs one of their umbrellas and leaves. And Dean lets him. Because that’s what they do. They talk. They hover on the fringes of each other’s sore spots. They spend a helluva lot of time together. But they always part ways. Because Cas always walks away and Dean always lets him.


	3. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surrendering to his instincts, Dean shakes his head. Once. A warning. A sign. He’s not sure, but Cas slams his mouth shut, jutting his chin out in a mute, if somewhat challenging question. Following the lighter trail of something sweet and curious, Dean crowds him. With a gentle noise, Cas backs up, until he bumps into one of the industrial beams. His arm coming up and over to lean closer, he captures Cas in his shadow.
> 
> “Whose name did you scream out, Cas?” he asks.

He’s not sure what caused it. The experience with the Alpha. Dean’s behavior in response to it. Several frustrating days of barely any progress on their cases. Or perhaps he’s seeing things, because he’s been dreaming a lot those few hours of sleep he does get, and Cas is just being his strange, intriguing self. But damn, he can be snippy when he’s having an off day and it’s been one off day after another for a week. Dean likes to think he’s taken it in stride long enough, before his Alpha comes out to play.

They’re working late tonight, sitting across from each other in the meeting room. Whiskeys poured. Dean’s on his bare feet, toes curled into the carpet. He rolled up his sleeves out of sheer habit, relieved to forego the expectation to be all buttoned up. He’s not keen on rules, but plays by some all the same. In a slightly more unusual display of revealing himself, Cas’ tie is loosened but not chucked. His sleeve garters fit snug on his biceps, making Dean bite his lip pensively every time he catches himself staring. And whenever he hurries to look away, from the corner of his eye, he notices Cas looking at him.

Over the course of the past hour, Dean may or may not have actively been wiping his blockers off with his handkerchief. Slowly, but steadily. Because Cas is snippy and not cooperating one bit, and there’s an itch under his skin Dean’s dying to scratch. In that timespan, Cas has gotten fidgety, walking to the small kitchen in the back to get a glass of water. Rummages around for a snack, returning with a bowl of nuts. Bathroom visits. Wandering around the desks aimlessly, looking at papers or notes without seeing them.

Cas’ scent is finally bleeding through his blockers and, from one second to the next, envelops him. Dean’s Alpha whines persistently in response to the restlessness, slowly but surely filling up the agency like a stormy mist creeping in through the windows and doors. The sentiment runs bone deep and the urge to soothe Cas is so strong, it pulls Dean to his feet and towards him.

Cas huffs as soon as he catches sight of Dean and glances around, as if wondering how they even got here. He looks forlorn in the dusky light and he’s not even wearing his damned oversized trench.

“What’s eating you, Cas?”

“Nothing.”

Dean narrows his eyes, easily picking out the lie, and Cas’ nostrils flare in turn, when he catches on too. His brows knit together and he scrunches up his nose in annoyance, though whether at Dean or something else is hard to tell.

“Dean…”

Surrendering to his instincts, Dean shakes his head. Once. A warning. A sign. He’s not sure, but Cas slams his mouth shut, jutting his chin out in a mute, if challenging question. Following the lighter trail of something sweet and curious, Dean crowds him, his heart beating faster. With a surprised, gentle noise, Cas backs up, until he bumps into one of the industrial beams. His arm coming up and over to lean closer, he captures Cas in his shadow.

“Whose name did you scream out, Cas?” he asks.

The single-mindedness of his fucking Alpha. He’s proud his voice isn’t shaking, though he guesses it makes the intrusion worse for Cas. The tension on the air is instant, so tight-wound and intense he’s convinced that if he sticks out his tongue, he can lick it up.

“Who says I was screaming?” Cas grumbles, eyes flashing dangerously.

A knife’s edge. Holding his breath, Dean inches in, eyes flicking to Cas’ lips and back to hold him hostage in his gaze.

“In the heat of the moment? That’s what you said.” Dean shrugs, a bit too casually, the movement of it drawing Cas in. “Fair guess.”

Impressively, Cas’ face gives nothing away, though his scent tells quite a different story. Dean quirks one corner of his mouth up in a smile, baring his fangs, tongue flicking out to tease the canine, which seems to charm and piss Cas off in equal measure. He chuckles lowly, allowing his breath to travel to Cas, so acutely aware of his warm body a hand’s width away. His voice drops into velvety, alluring territory instinctively. He keeps his Alpha out of his voice, though his scent is relying on how he can affect Cas, wondering… hoping he can.

“Tell me, honey… Whose name?”

The nickname slips out on a whisper, but it has the lovely, inadvertent effect of stripping Cas of his usual cool. His azure eyes widen, pupils blown large, and something heavy and sweet clings to the particles in the air. Dean inhales shamelessly. He couldn’t have stopped himself, if he tried. Nostrils flaring, he brings his free hand up to caress Cas’ healing bruise, his heart ready to give out.

The moment his fingers make contact, electric sparks travel from him to Cas and back, and they’re caught in a seemingly endless give and take that lights him up from the inside. Cas’ lips part, tempting in their pink softness, made worse by the swirl of honeyed desire coursing through his scent.

“Yours,” Cas admits huffily.

He swallows hard, when that one word carries on an undercurrent of a delicate promise. Cas surprises both of them, scowling at his own honesty. Dean’s heart trembles violently and his brain is slow on the uptake. He expected someone else’s name. One of the many Alphas that has been wearing out the doormat in their attempts to woo Cas: Michael, Lucifer, Balthazar. Stuttering around a fair amount of deep confusion, his mouth moves, finding precious few clever things to say.

“Huh?”

Ahh, yes, smart Alpha, he is.

Cas glares at him so intensely through the blush that’s blooming on his face, Dean is grateful for the golden glow slipping in, softening some of his sharper edges. Despite being an Omega, Cas has a temper on him and little to no filter, under the right circumstances. But then neither does Dean, especially not in the face of delicate moments like these.

So when his brain finally does start firing again, it’s not proving very helpful.

“You’re telling me that in the midst of your heat with some Alpha buried balls deep inside you, you said the wrong name… Which was _my name_?”

A helpless, little laugh of pure disbelief escapes him, which sets off Cas. The defensive hiss is loud, rolling into snarling territory the longer it lasts, a withering stare Dean’s part.

“Did I stutter when I said it was you? Keep this up and I might start questioning that, you ass.”

He’s drawn in, smiling like an idiot, despite the sharp tone. “You think of me outside your heat too?”

“Don’t look so smug, Dean. I can smell you too.”

“I know you can. Pray tell… What do I smell like, Cas?”

And all of a sudden, Cas’ scent skyrockets into excruciating vulnerability and all he can wonder is _‘why’_. It’s like the sun rising while he’s still dreaming, because his Alpha understands before Dean does. Or can. His heart gallops like a wild horse, blood rushing through him. Before Cas can dodge him, Dean presses closer into his space, forcing him to look at him. He's surprised to find a deep warmth in those blue eyes.

“Don’t leave. Please don’t leave again.”

The soft smile that begets eases him somewhat.

“You never asked me not to before.”

“Then I’m asking you now, Cas.”

“Why?”

“I was wrong that first time around, wasn’t I?”

“Please clarify which first time,” Cas says, eyebrow quirking up, a burst of mirth in his eyes. “There have been a few.”

Dean bows his head, a self-deprecating chuckle working its way out. 

“You’re killing me.”

Cas searches his face. His breath hitches minutely under the wide-eyed, gentle inspection, while he takes in the stance of his eyebrows, the angles of his cheekbones and the way his breath pushes past those lips gently. It makes him throw caution to the wind even more.

“That very first time, Cas. When you mentioned how tough your heats could be. Finding a decent partner to get through them.”

“Ah,” Cas hums delicately. He tucks his chin, releasing the full force of his eyes on Dean. “You mean that time you so bravely offered yourself up to me out of pity?”

The way that last word is all but spat in his face, Dean understands, his stomach turning unpleasantly. He clears his throat, cheeks heating up wildly, and wills the apology into his scent. Until now, he never figured that out.

“I didn’t realize… It wasn’t pity, Cas. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be an assbutt. Not then, not now.”

“Really? Then what is this?”

Cas gestures in the limited space between them. At Dean towering over him. Although Cas often crowds his personal space, coming from an Alpha to an Omega, this is invasive. Yet Cas doesn't seem put out.

“My wolf… To an extent. Trying to scent you. Read you. To understand.”

“Oh, please, _Alpha_ , you can scent me from the other room. And you’re smarter than this. Or you’re thinking too much instead of…”

The address sends a jolt of desire through Dean, which has Cas inhaling deeply, mouth open, and all of a sudden there’s nothing left of those blue eyes, the black of his pupils taking over completely, gold dappled in like fireflies, swamping Dean’s vision. His own flashes red in response.

“Alpha?” Dean pants.

Cas does that head tilt, which always has his heart flip-flopping, even more so up close. “You called me honey first. Christ, Dean, your scent... You’re giving me whiplash.”

“I’m thinking too much, instead of…?” he prompts.

Cas stares up at him, the overwhelming emotions sending his scent into a jumble. He can't make heads or tails of it. Not with his incredulous, obfuscated human mind.

“Omega,” Dean whispers, the word a plea as much as an offering.

On a soft whimper, Cas' eyes fall shut and he bares his neck for a heart-stopping moment, before he seems to realize what he’s doing. His hands find a ginger purchase at Dean’s abdomen, his warmth marginally seeping through the fabric of his waistcoat, the other one sliding to his belt buckle. Dean’s mind is stuck in that overwhelmed limbo of seeing what’s right under his nose, yet not quite believing it, especially when Cas’ forehead touches his, the hair a tease of a tickle.

Cas' breath ghosts over his lips. A soft, broken noise is wrenched from Dean, echoed, surprisingly, by Cas, while he leans in that last inch of distance, closing the gap.

Theirs is a sticky lips, clumsy kind of first kiss. That hot huff of breath slipping between his lips, a hint of Cas’ taste, without dipping in. Tilting forward, he exhales, long and slow, eyes closed, surrendering to his other senses. Repeats it. Kiss, lick, breathe in, kiss… Steals glances in between. A myriad of tingles fan out from Cas’ soft, warm lips, like a storm incoming over a lake, thick raindrops falling and breaching the surface of his skin, soaking him to his core.

Soft sounds rumble up in the back of his throat with every louder thump of his heart. Dean’s body heats up like wildfire. Cas is pink to the tips of his ears. His scent all but wraps Dean up, trying to swallow him whole. Over and over, Cas pulls at him until Dean’s body melts against him. When they break apart, gaping in disbelief, their breaths come heavily. Cas’ dark eyebrows rise in a silent question. Dean’s licking his lips, moving them in search of words, finding none, when suddenly Cas’ expression shifts into something sinfully challenging.

And Cas takes off running.


	4. Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He spots the bright, white fabric of Cas’ shirt, crossed in the back by the dark blue suspenders, like a bull’s eye in the night. Dean’s bare feet slap on the cold, damp pavement as he picks up his pace. Gaze glued to the movement of Cas’ strong thighs and legs, he laughs when their eyes meet as Cas rounds a corner. He finds pure exhilaration there. 
> 
> It takes another corner and crossing a street, closing in steadily, before he realizes where Cas is leading him.
> 
> Dean lives closest to their agency, yet he is the least likely to ever go home, but, of all places to choose from, Cas is running straight for his.
> 
> “Fuck,” he wheezes, hot on Cas’ heels.

Dean stares at the empty space that held Cas a heartbeat ago, incredulity short-lived, before his instincts to chase kick in. He rushes after Cas, glancing left and right as soon as he’s on the street, the sound of Cas' challenging laughter on the air. It’s late enough for the streets lamps to be dimmed, but the moon is out. Besides, his sight is not his main sense for this endeavor. His head tilts up, every fibre of his being reaching out, while he inhales deeply.

Cas’ scent is more than enough, now that he finally knows it. He runs, following the trail, as if it is gold dust, surely the color of Cas’ Omega eyes. He wants to see those. Golden liquid, blending with the ocean, while he is buried deep, Cas’ lips parted in moaning surrender, before Dean closes his lips around his mating gland and lays his claim.

He spots the bright, white fabric of Cas’ shirt, crossed in the back by the dark blue suspenders, like a bull’s eye in the night. Dean’s bare feet slap on the cold, damp pavement while he picks up his pace. Gaze glued to the movement of Cas’ strong thighs and legs, he laughs when their eyes meet as Cas rounds a corner. He finds pure exhilaration there. 

It takes another corner and crossing a street, closing in steadily, before he realizes where Cas is leading him.

Dean lives closest to their agency, yet he is the least likely to ever go home, but, of all places to choose from, Cas is running straight for his.

“Fuck,” he wheezes, so hot on Cas’ heels, he can see the sheen of perspiration on his skin.

He feels the gusts of wind fanning out around Cas’ body, carrying his scent, and his muscles are on fire with the need to grab, throttle, roll and pin him down. His dick is chubbing, distracting and impractical enough that he needs to palm at it to adjust. More laughter, but something else heavier is dancing on the air with it, and he snarls, when the scent of Cas’ slick hits him, momentarily whiting out his vision, before it flares up red. He pushes his body, hell-bent to prove he’s worthy. 

The building comes into focus, beyond Cas’ shoulder, and there’s that heady fragrance of prey about to be caught, when Cas leaps the three front door steps in one go, Dean right behind him. He grabs hold of the fabric and suspenders between Cas’ shoulders, too worked up, too fast to stop himself in his tracks, and bodily slams into him. Cas laughs, a glorious sound spiking his scent into sweet anticipation, which peters out to a wheezy ‘oomph’ the moment Dean’s weight crushes him against the gleaming wooden door. Cas' laughter bursts from him on a hitched exhale, when Dean’s hands travel his flanks, searching for a point of entry and only finding ticklish squirming.

Elation coursing through him, Dean flips him, so they’re face to face, because like hell is he going to miss a moment drinking him in. Cas’ usually composed face, often stuck in a near-perma-squint while pouring over files, is now utterly open, much like his body. His arms are up against the door on either side of him, the soft insides of his wrists visible, begging to be held. Chest heaving, one leg comes up around Dean’s, pulling them flush together at the groin, and fuck, they’re both hard, it pulls a delirious sound out of them, their breaths mingling.

But his eyes… Dean almost whimpers at the desire oozing off Cas, blending with that greedy kind of love in those ocean blues, as if Dean is everything. And if he is, he really wishes he’d known sooner. So much sooner.

Dean shoves his nose in Cas’ neck, snuffling shamelessly, drawing a deep moaned giggle from him. It’s such a carefree sound for Cas to make, the type Dean’s never heard before, and his Alpha is lapping it up. He opens up further to him and Dean hoists him up by the thighs, Cas hopping up so helpfully, until Dean has him pinned to the door by the strength of his hips. His hands rake through Dean’s hair, trying to get under his shirt, but his waistcoat and shoulder holster are too tight.

“Fuck me,” Cas pants into his mouth in frustration. “Your clothes… Dean, come on… Alpha, get this door open.”

Which is when Dean realizes, through all the fireworks going off in his head, that he left everything on his desk, under the glare of the little lamp. Gun, keys, wallet… everything, including the damn door to the agency wide open in his haste to hunt Cas down.

Except…

He sucks down on Cas’ neck, the flat of his tongue lapping up the hummingbird’s wings’ beat of Cas’ heart underneath that fragile skin. Thinking fast, he decides he really doesn’t want to put Cas back down, but he has to if he is to get his hands under those clothes, rip them off him, feel Cas’ fingers and a lot more on his own furnace skin. Cas buries his hands in Dean’s hair, whimpering when Dean licks and mouths around his mating gland, biting down hard enough to suggest without breaking skin.

Cas yelps, a loud, wanton sound traveling to the stars, hands feverish in their touch, clutching onto his holster, while Dean fumbles around, because he knows he has it somewhere. He always does.

“Ahh,” he hums with a pleased smile.

“Fuck, Dean,” Cas growls. “What are you doing?”

He forces himself to step back out of the hot pocket of _them_ , minutely so, his vision blurring and refocusing on Cas’ exquisitely annoyed face, and holds up his spoils, grinning widely. 

“Lock pick.”

"Oh, thank fuck."

Laughing, Dean drops to one knee, his hand sliding down Cas’ chest to his stomach, relishing the strength he finds, but doesn’t bother to step out from between Cas’ legs. A deep whine falls from Cas’ lips, when the gesture lands his face dangerously close to Cas’ dick. The hardened outline is obvious, his slick and semen almost palpable, tempting enough for Dean to mouth over the fabric, breathing hot air through, before he gets to work on the lock. One hand in Dean’s hair, Cas cards through it encouragingly, and he hears a noise that sounds suspiciously like Cas’ head bonking into the door a few times, carried on a huffy whine.

“So impatient,” Dean chuckles, tongue slipping out in concentration.

“Dean… Hurry, there are people and they’re watching,” Cas whispers. “Maybe they think you’re… We’re…”

Yeah, they would think that. Both his and Cas’ scents have to be all over the place and it doesn’t matter if they both smell like they’re on board. Despite not being in heat, Cas is practically a beacon for every jackass on the block, his swirling, sweet, tempting scent, begging for a particular kind of attention. Because he’s right there. Unmated and slicking. Granted, with an Alpha beside him. It really shouldn’t surprise Dean one or another self-proclaimed Good Samaritan decides to step up.

That damned bar across the street. It’s more of a seedy hellhole than an actual bar, full of corruption and nothing but knotheads, so he’s on edge the second one of them butts in.

“Hey, you alright?”

Vision flaring a different, darker kind of red, Dean is on his feet, snarling, ready to tear the guy’s head off. While he pushes off the door, he marks Cas on his neck for good measure, drawing a surprised, gratified whimper from him. Because Cas is his. His Omega. Always was. Would have been sooner, if he wasn’t such an idiot.

“Whoa, easy there, big guy. Hey... Hey, is this Alpha bothering you? Cause me’n my friends got isolation rooms. We can help. We know what it’s like for Omegas.”

When he gestures at the ragtag of lowlifes, pouring onto the sidewalk, and Dean smells the sleazy intentions, he almost loses it. He surges forward, claws out. The sleazebag’s eyes light up red and he takes a wider stance. Immediately, Cas’ arms come around Dean from behind, hands locking together firmly over Dean’s wildly beating heart, chin pressed into his shoulder muscle hard enough that pain jolts through him. Fuck, he’s strong. Cas can handle himself. Dean knows this better than most. They train together often enough, but right now, none of that matters.

“He’s my Alpha,” Cas says, his tone so deeply possessive Dean’s Alpha roars in approval, “We are more than fine. My name is Castiel, his name’s Dean Winchester.”

Dean bares his teeth in a feral smile, when he spots the flicker of skittish recognition in the guy’s face. It pays to run the agency and to let their reputation run rampant alongside it, with every case they solve.

“So why don't you take a step back,” Dean growls.

Cas increases the pressure on his chest, tugging him back, and it’s only then that Dean realizes Cas is letting his soothing Omega pheromones do their job in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

“Name might ring a bell,” Cas says sweetly, but there’s an undercurrent of a threat working against his intentions. “We work at the detective agency a block down. Maybe you remember we helped out with that murder on the first floor last year?”

“Yeah,” the guys mutters. He’s stumbling away from them. “The ghost…”

Dean snorts when Cas doesn’t correct him. Skating a bit too close to the truth there, even though those idiots have no real clue. Sleazebag waves a hand at the both of them, while he almost trips himself up, stepping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

“I’ll, uhh, I’ll leave you to it.”

“You do that.”

When Dean doesn’t tear his eyes away from the slowly retreating form, until he’s across the streets and they all slink back into the bar, Cas nuzzles insistently at the back of Dean’s neck, eventually licks him to provoke a response. The intimate gesture sends a shiver down his spine.

“That went all backwards,” Dean says, turning to Cas.

His blue eyes are sparkling bright in the light of the moon, a mild manic touch to them. There are days where he worries about Cas’ sense of self-preservation. “Because I didn’t let you rip out his throat?”

“ _Let me_ ,” Dean echoes on a bemused whisper. It begets a wicked smile from Cas. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“How would that have been the preferable outcome?”

“Not at all, but deeply satisfying for certain instincts that have been acting up ever since…” He gestures vaguely at Cas’ eye.

“You do realize I kicked the shit out of him?” Cas says dryly.

“I never expected anything else,” Dean mutters.

He drops back to one knee, annoyed that some of their energy’s evaporated. Cas’ hand finds purchase on the back of his neck, kneading the muscles, while he makes short work of the lock. Putting his index finger to his lips, he gestures up and holds up three fingers. Entwining their hands, he leads Cas up the narrow stairs.

“This is the first time I’m here,” Cas whispers.

“I’m aware,” Dean says. “It’s a shitty place…” He glances over his shoulder on the second floor landing. “Not sure why you ran here.”

“Because it was closest and I didn’t want to wait much longer,” Cas says, flashing Dean a quick smile.

It doesn’t do away with the self-consciousness regarding his living conditions fully, but eases some of the tightness in his chest. Cas’ scent almost chases him, when his fingers slip under his waistcoat’s hem and behind his belt, as if Cas seeks to anchor him.

“And I wanted to see where you live. For as long as we’ve known each other, it always surprised me, we never…”

“True,” he admits. “We’re here now. Don’t expect anything fancy.”

He ignores the word ‘empty’ echoing in his skull, while he picks the lock on his front door. It swings open, giving way to his darkened living room. A small noise lands mightily close to his ear, Cas leaning in and over in his eagerness, audibly inhaling.

“Oh,” Cas mutters.

A non-committal sound Dean’s unsure how to interpret. Cas all but stumbles past him and for a second, he feels strangely left behind, but then Cas’ fingers hook into his and he pulls him along. Dean kicks the door shut with his heel, flicking his wrist to turn the deadbolt lock in place.

“Your place… It smells glorious. You,” Cas adds quickly, “smell glorious.”

The soft awe in Cas’ voice sounds so out of this world, the words even more so, in stark contrast to how he perceives his life. His chest tightens and expands in rapid succession, like fire embers breathing oxygen.

“I’m hardly here,” he says.

He wants to ask what his particular brand of empty smells like, but doesn’t get the words out. The slightest pressure from Cas’ fingertips and they’re chest to chest, Cas’ face utterly soft like the sun’s rays over an endless ocean, while he inhales. He hovers close to Dean, his nostrils flaring, while he scents him, but doesn’t press against his skin. Dean wishes he would, but he’s too mesmerized by what Cas’ scent is doing. Something indulgent and curious, making Dean feel like he’s about to lick sweet cake batter off a wooden spoon if he dips into it.

“So earthly,” Cas whispers. “Fresh leather. A rainstorm. Honeyed whiskey.” His eyes fall shut, pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Pure, no ice,” he adds as an afterthought. Suddenly he crowds Dean, nosing up his neck, a straight trail for his mating gland. “And,” Cas sighs deeply. “The library…”

Tilting his head back to accommodate him, Dean’s voice breaks. “I smell like a bunch of old books?”

Laughing softly, Cas only purrs in reply, melting against him, a finality to the way he takes up residence, like he’s decided to live there now.

“You smell like home.”

First every scar and old wound on his body stings. Then his mind follows suit, a constellation of trauma lighting up. As if Cas is touching them all at once. Every healed laceration. Every scarred-over bullet and stab wound. Every sliver of anguish he so expertly side-steps on the daily.

He thought he’d need more words around Cas. Everyone always needs so many words these days, especially on those radio broadcasts. Thankfully, he finds out they don’t.

Every pull is met with a fluid movement, like Cas is water in his hands. Every push is met with a corporeal ‘yes’, consisting only of an affirmation of what is tumbling around inside his mind. Set free in his heart, tangibly, painfully, gloriously beautiful.

They never turn on the light, allowing their wolves room to breathe and sniff each other out. He isn’t sure how much of his loneliness Cas can pick up, but they meander their way through every spot of importance in Dean’s small apartment.

Gold dust on his kitchen counter, where Cas hops up and pulls him in, so Dean rubs his cheek to the delectable dark scruff on Cas’ neck, nipping, working his jaw, as he cups his face with both hands. He ignores the slight tremble in them. Pretends it isn’t there.

Gold dust on his couch, where Dean drapes himself over Cas and buries his nose just under the soft spot behind his ear, smiling at the quick intakes of breaths that gets him. He laps at Cas’ lifeline with his tongue, finding the intimate beating of his heart, drawn in by the intimacy of it.

Gold dust, marking the wall from the dining area to the hallway, where Cas surprises Dean by pushing him backwards. His back slamming into the wall causes his framed artwork to clatter. He presses himself to Dean, chest to toe, pushing his shoulder holster off him. Cas grazes his teeth down the tendon in Dean’s neck, teasing a bite at his clavicle, when they find friction for a few blessed moments.

He figures they’re headed for his bedroom. Until Cas whines and Dean’s planted down on his leather wingback chair, the breath knocked out of him. The only piece of furniture he’s fond of, where he spends most of his time. The next second, his hands are roaming, because he has a lap full of Cas, his thighs crushed between the arm rests and Dean’s own. The scent of spring flowers and sweet apples explodes around him, when Cas musses his fingers into the pomade in his hair and claims his lips, tip of his tongue pleading for entry.

Dean opens up, hands catching in the folds of Cas’ oversized shirt. “Fuck, Cas…”

A huff of frustration puffs against his cheekbone, when Cas fumbles with his waistcoat, and Dean laughs. It’s an endearing sound, because Cas is adorable in his flustered, annoyed state, hands dragging over the fabric. Cas’ fingers catch on the buttons, focus slipping through his scent when he snuffles harder at Dean’s neck, and they travel up across his chest. He pops the first one, a tight uncoiling of Dean’s restraint immediately in its wake, more so with every next one, a low snarl escaping when Cas rubs against his thigh, the first hints of warm slick seeping through.

“Dean,” Cas pants. “Dean, Alpha, get these clothes off me…”

Shit. His hands _are_ trembling, when he reaches for the leather ends on Cas’ suspenders. They’re too small for his blunt fingers. He growls against Cas’ chest, breathing out hotly through the thinner fabric of Cas’ shirt. Want swirls up through his scent, when Cas grabs his face and plunges his tongue into his mouth, arching into his touch.

Sheer stubbornness is what gets him to focus sufficiently, blindly slipping the buttons through. The suspenders snap up between them and Dean pulls Cas closer. He squeezes his eyes shut, when one hits him on the cheek, and they fold like cheap suits, laughing.

“Smooth, aren’t you?” Cas smirks fondly.

“As honey,” he says. He teases the edge of his teeth with his tongue while he turns his face up to Cas, pressing both palms to his upper back. Rolling his hips harder, he grins wide when that makes Cas whimper, his hand grabbing onto Dean’s shoulder like a vice. “Just for you, Cas.”

“Dean,” he grits out. “Too-many-clothes.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Both!”

He chuckles, relishing the urgency coursing through Cas and his attitude, when Cas starts undoing his own shirt buttons, revealing miles of tanned skin. Dean’s hands chase his to peel the fabric off his strong shoulders. His stomach twists when his eyes catch on the scars, but they snap up to Cas’ face the second the tart twinge of self-consciousness masked as defiance hits his olfactory senses.

“Beautiful,” he says, rushing forward to kiss him.

Cas’ scent immediately sweetens, leveling back out to an apple pie picnic Dean desperately wants to attend, complete with red and white checkered blanket. He’ll read Cas whatever book he’s immersed in. Take him to dinner properly.

He responds so naturally, so eagerly, his moist breath falling to Dean’s lips with every heady soft sound, as he finds a gentle rhythm, rubbing up against him. Dean clasps his hand to the back of Cas’ neck, twisting his fingers in his hair, and deepens their kiss, licking and sucking, until Cas is trembling. He gives his Alpha room to play, because, as affected as he is, he’s mighty smug about having his mate in aroused shambles in his lap.

Cas glowers at him through the haze of need in that typical fondly grumpy way, and Dean’s Alpha howls in triumph, when a warm, wet spot forms on his pants. It has him urging Cas out of his lap, earning protests that are somehow at once needy and angry. 

“Easy, my Omega,” he soothes with a smile, messing up Cas’ hair as he kisses him a few times. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

He puts his hands to Cas’ flanks, sighing at the sensation of Cas’ ribs rising and falling under his palms. So vulnerable for all his strength. Surrendering to Dean. He’s breathing faster into their kiss, until Dean lets go, and Cas holds still. Eyes closed, lips parted, subtlest hint of his nostrils working to inhale him. Dean just soaks up the view, before he laps and kisses his way down across the warm, hard planes of Cas’ chest and stomach, while he blindly removes his pants. He cherishes the scars he finds, even when Cas’ muscles jump away from the affection, and he pulls him in. Long, closed-lipped kisses, where he breathes out slow and warm against his skin, unsure if the wounds were job-related or otherwise.

Cas’ hands tighten on his trapezoid, fingertips trailing up the back of his head into his hair. He accommodates Dean, when he peels off his underwear and socks as well, Dean groaning when the scent of Cas’ slick becomes infinitely more intense. He noses into the V of his groin, hands coming up around to cup Cas’ ass cheeks.

“Ahhnn,” Cas huffs, angling himself towards Dean in a mute request.

Dean rises to his feet. He clenches his teeth when his dick strains against his zipper and unclasps his belt, which draws Cas’ eyes down to his groin. He’d laugh, if he wasn’t vibrating out of his skin with need himself.

“Cas,” he mutters.

He’s not sure whose idea it is, but it flows from one to the other, carried on a blend of printing ink and whiskey, and they move in unison. Until Cas’ back is turned to him, his hands clamping down on the leather arm rests, knuckles pale. There’s a tilt to his hips that’s flirting with presenting, but not fully. A teasing hint, when Cas casts a look over his shoulder in invitation. Kissing a wet, nipping trail down Cas’ spine, Dean drops to his knees, ghosting a warm breath between Cas' cheeks, that has his mate chasing the feeling.

Whining, Dean gives into him, licking a slow stripe through Cas’ slick, his eyes falling shut. Cas’ thighs tremble under his palms, when he repeats the gesture, circling his hole, teasing at the rim for a few hot breaths. When Cas lets out a shaky, greedy sound, Dean's eyes fly open, sinking the world in a red glow, and his Alpha howls when he sees Cas bow his head, the planes of his shoulders tilting in surrender, his arms trembling, and he presents.

Keeping a hold on his Alpha, he teases his fingers around Cas’ rim, coating them up, before slowly sliding them over his perineum. Spearing his tongue, he breaches the sensitive muscle, moaning when Cas whimpers, his hips bucking instinctively. A fresh wave of slick melts in his mouth and he sucks up every drop, savoring the taste. His ears twitch at the higher-pitched sounds spilling from Cas, when he closes his hand around his dick and tugs. A few teasing ones, pulling the foreskin back, his thumb flicking over his weeping slit. He holds a languid rhythm, wanting Cas to fall apart.

Cas’ scent billows up around him like a hot air balloon filling out, an overwhelming impatient need leaking through, when he throws his head back on a hoarse cry. Alpha instinct to give his mate what he wants drives him, when he releases Cas, licking a trail up his spine, and nips at his shoulder. Cas shudders and straightens a bit on shaky legs, pushing his back to Dean's chest. Dean rests his forehead to the spot behind his ear.

A gaze of pure gold meets his eyes over the slant of Cas’ shoulder, its glow the only light in the room. For that one heartbeat, until his own brighten in response. They meld and move.

“Cas?” he asks, intentions skipping across stepping rocks in a river.

Shaking his head when he follows Dean’s gaze to the bedroom, Cas kisses him, sliding a feverishly warm hand down the front of his pants. He ruts into the touch, a sigh of relief escaping, when the fabric falls away and they’re equally naked, staring at each other. Back into their own peculiar world. Somehow… the two of them. Somehow. His heart threatens to fight its way out of his ribcage.

His fingertips find purchase at Cas’ hips, thumbs circling the dips at the front, and suddenly he’s backed into his favorite chair, dragging Cas into his lap again. They collide, lips catching on teeth. Messy, needy. Cas rolls his hips, grinding down on his dick, panting into his mouth softly. Slow, tempting gestures, slick spreading over his dick, his abdomen, his thighs with wet sounds.

Dean coaxes him into a deep kiss, a possessive hand to the back of Cas’ neck. Relishes the feel of Cas rubbing against him, while he wraps his other hand around his dick. He twists his fingers into Cas’ hair and pulls, their kiss breaking with a wet sound, and bares Cas’ neck to the air. To him. His vision zones in on the visibly beating pulse of his heartbeat, quick puffs of want falling off Cas’ lips, while he grinds down on Dean harder. One golden eye peers down at him, but Cas remains pliant under his touch.

Dipping in, he flicks his tongue over Cas’ nipple. Repeats the caress over and over, when Cas responds hotly. Quick bursts of energy that snap and crackle in the air and send Cas spiralling into a desperate mess, Dean close on his heels. He sucks the pebbling patch of skin into his mouth, before licking his way to the other one, want skyrocketing alongside the pitch in Cas' voice.

He loses himself in taking Cas apart, marking his skin with dark red claims, until his mate’s scent is begging him for more. The blend of printing ink meshes with his old friggin’ books, Cas’ spring flowers soaked from a rainstorm, and fresh apple pie with whiskey. His head is swimming, his Alpha surrendering while taking what he wants. He works his hips with more intent, searching, wanting, and Cas catches on so delightfully fast, willing, urgent, and suddenly he’s inching into that blessed slick, tight heat of him, while Cas’ neck remains gloriously bared above him.

A growl reverberates out of Dean, from deep within, at the sight and feel of this. Cas is so much. Everything. Dean’s bursting at the seams with this feeling of being connected to him, their fragrances chasing the lonely shadows from every nook and cranny in his apartment. Cas digs his nails into his shoulders, scraping them to the thick muscle in between. The sting of it tells him Cas is leaving marks in turn, his hips snapping up harsher in response.

“Ye-hesss,” Cas hisses, face buried in his neck, where he latches on to Dean’s skin.

Cas’ voice is like gravel and Dean’s wolf suggests something, possessively so. He releases his grip on Cas’ hair and dick, grabbing his hips, and smirks, when Cas seems to realize. Working his abdomen's strength, he goes in search of a pace that has Cas falling apart. Bring down the stars for his mate. He gazes at Dean, whimpering, while he chases his release on Dean’s dick. Fuck, he wants to see. And _hear_. Cas’ thighs tremble, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, while he works himself up and down, whimpering, snarling, and suddenly pleading, his body quivering in tell-tale surrender.

“Ahhn, oh, yes, yesyesyes, Dean, I’m… going… I’m... Dean! Alpha, please!”

Cas’ deeply sweet scent boldly pulls Dean forward, his fangs sinking into Cas’ neck. On a high-pitched howl of his name, Cas comes, head thrown back. Turning liquid golden eyes on Dean, he smirks as he slows his grind down, shallower, until Dean’s knot locks him into place. A drawn-out growl emanates from him, when he releases Cas’ neck and licks over the mating bite. His need translates without a word and his vision flares up red, when Cas bites down on the thick muscle of his shoulder, completing the bond. The whine that escapes him is involuntary, as his eyes slip shut, and they hold onto each other tightly, waiting for their breathing to calm down. The high he's feeling is mirrored in Cas' scent and eyes, a cushioning feeling they float on in mated unison.


	5. Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The chair was a stellar idea," he grunts.
> 
> "You better not be sarcastic," Cas smiles, while Dean lowers himself onto the bed backwards.
> 
> “I wouldn't dream of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Thanks to everyone who tagged along for their ride.
> 
> As a last surprise: I commissioned some art for this (a chapter 3 scene), which I'll upload as soon as it is done.
> 
> Hope you're all well and loved, as always.  
> Hugs,  
> Mal

He's carrying Cas to the bedroom, small bursts of pleasure coursing through both of them every time he jostles Cas a bit too much.

"The chair was a stellar idea," he grunts.

"You better not be sarcastic," Cas smiles, while Dean lowers himself onto the bed backwards.

“I wouldn't dream of it."

His eyes adjust to the deeper, velvety darkness here. Though he rarely gets a full night's sleep, Dean loves a lie-in, so his curtains were an investment, meant to keep out the light. The world, truthfully. Cas works with him as he leans backwards and rolls them, pulling his mate closer and the sheets over them. With the sweetest purr yet, Cas nuzzles into his neck and his heart seems to expand beyond measure at how much he's feeling at once. How his life changed in a matter of hours.

"However, I still want to know who dared hurt you, when… when _..._ ” 

_When they had this._

Bile rises at the thought of others touching Cas. In any way. But the feeling is smoothed out by Cas’ laugh and peppered kisses to his collarbone and neck.

“Stop trying to figure out his identity.”

“I think I’ve earned the right?”

“Because you fucked me?”

He glowers at the choice of words. So blunt. “Because I _mated_ you. You’re my mate, Cas,” he says pointedly. “And I’m yours.”

Cas smiles wide, gums showing, eyes crinkling, and his all too smug scent swirls up between them. “So you are.”

A hapless grin forms at the admission. Like it wasn’t already glaringly obvious, he is quickly learning he adores hearing those words. To hear his reality confirmed. Cas narrows his eyes, nostrils flaring, as if he senses it. He leans in, softly smiling, the sight of which elicits a dopey smile from Dean.

"What...?" he asks, unsure what's going on in Cas' glorious mind.

“But you’re not going anywhere…”

“Is that so?”

Cas nods firmly. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“As long as I can keep you here.”

“Why is that?”

On an impish smile, Cas works his strong thighs, Dean shivering at the continued tingly sensations erupting across his body, so intimately connected. Cas rolls them, Dean’s sweaty back pressed into the cool, fresh sheets. His breath hitches, when Cas undulates his hips, azure eyes drinking him in for every little way he betrays himself. Dean's breath stutters, helpless, faced with his mate above him.

“Because I don’t want you to leave,” he says in a sweet whisper, “I want to stay in your apartment with you. Endlessly. Because I intend to trigger your rut, Dean Winchester, so I can keep you in isolation. And by the time we get to the end of that, we’ll have bred the anger out of you and some gorgeous pups into me, and you’ll never want to be anywhere else but by my side.”

Cas’ name is pulled from him, along with the air from his lungs and a second, softer orgasm. His desperate hands find purchase on those thighs, scrambling to the small of Cas’ back, while he rears up, kissing the marked skin over Cas’ heart. Strong arms come around him, but Cas is trembling, as if he is losing as much of himself to this as Dean is. There’s little to hide behind anymore.

“Where I belong?” he asks. 

Dean knows his scent and eyes tell a different story to his teasing tone, when he tilts his face up at Cas, and those pink lips find his, parting easily when he licks them. A bittersweet fragrance of belonging blends, painfully intense in that world-rearranging kind of way.

“Please,” Cas mumbles into his mouth, with a need as deep as his own.

The mention of pups trickles through slower and something delightfully bright and playful coasts up through their scent, like red, orange and yellow leaves caught in an updraft during autumn. Cas laughs, eyes crinkling. That sweet, genuine, deep laugh which shakes his body and Dean’s mind travels on the sound, joining him in higher spheres, far, far away from the dark, to a level of existence that’s ripe with possibilities. That’s free of the constraints of the darker part of reality and isolated at the same time.

“Pups?” he asks breathlessly. “Cas? You want…”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas hums on a laugh, rolling his hips.

There’s that dangerous uptick to his lips again, that sinfully tempting side of Cas bleeding through, knowing full well Dean will do anything and everything for him, now and forever. A broken, but all too willing sound spills off Dean’s lips, and when he rumbles at Cas in warning, it’s playfully, promising dreams of a family, a home crystalizing into reality before his mind’s eye. Pups playing on the carpet. Family dinners in the kitchen. Picnics.

“Ahhh,” Cas moans softly. “Come on, Alpha, what splendid ideas… and such beautiful feelings… I can smell them. Show me what you’ve got. I’ve waited long enough.”

They both have. At a loss for words, Dean wraps himself around Cas bodily, pulling him flush to him. The next request is a muffled string of fragile words against his chest, his warm breath weaseling its way under his skin, through muscle and bone, straight to his Alpha heart.

“Can I stay here for my isolations?”

“Always,” Dean says. “You can stay here forever.”


	6. Bonus: Fanart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for chapter 3, where I also uploaded it. Made by [CrzyDemona](http://heyassbutt.com/index.html). That is a direct link to her website, heyassbutt.com (gotta love it). So much love for her work! We met during DCBB 2019 and have kept in touch since. Thank you for making this!
> 
> Hugs!  
> Mal


End file.
